Khayali
▻ none (x no one)◅
She rises from the noonday tide like a black veiled seashell made flesh washing ashore. The flutter of her nostrils belies the calm of the rest of her, not to mention the nervous, twitchy, manner in which she shakes what she can of the saltwater from her. Her mane hangs sopping regardless of her efforts, slapping at the muscle on either side-- sticking to her face, her soft feminine neck, and her tail doing the same at her haunches.
Delicate as a dream, her mother and father used to say. A waifishly built mare with the kind of sculpting that one might think of when they thought of alabaster statues and marble reliefs. Chiseled by a master artist, though a little bit degraded in poise with the addition of the ocean permeating her whole being. Her skin trembles and flickers where it dries in the sun, the salt becoming a nuisance in spite of her efforts.
Her ghostly eyes, the very reason she had vacated her homeland, look out at where she had come ashore - rather enamored of the verdant surroundings as she followed what seemed like a popular footpath into the treeline.
She is investigative, nosing at the intriguing plants that she passes as she picks her way towards the relief for her over-salted tongue, her parched throat, and her itching hide. Nothing too fast, certainly far less aware than she should have been with the season and the population of her new location. What was she to think, though, when for so long there wasn’t hardly a soul to hear if she wept at night over the loss of warm evenings amongst her sisters and the children that remained protected by her father.
When she finds a smaller, sister, waterfall to the great crashing one ahead she turns aside early and wades in with little hesitation. The relief is instant and she splashes the water a little with a delicately extended upper lip before taking a deep suckling drink from the surface. The earthy flavor of it is unique to that of an oasis - but somehow it soothes her even more. Her eyelids flutter long eyelashes down onto the fleshy gap before her cheekbones and she sighs soft and long. She rests like that, mid chest deep in water, before moving herself into the mist and deluge of the waterfall properly.
The pressure and chill of it assure that she does not remain long - but what she finds when she moves out of it stops her quite fast. A shadow, not readily spied, lingers amidst the trees hugging the pools rim. "Hello?" Her rich mezzo-soprano voice inquires, a nervous tension in her voice.
OF THE LOST ISLANDS WILDS
▻ four years - arabian - graying sooty bay rabicano - 14.3 hh ◅